


부족해서,

by mingyu-uji (knjkth)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, M/M, Set in Korea, Unhappy Ending, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, crying during sex but not the sexy kind, i'm so sorry seokmin-ah i love you, soonyoung is ... a bit of an a-hole in this i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27325225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knjkth/pseuds/mingyu-uji
Summary: Seokmin is simple. He’s so simple, and he’s always been.
Relationships: Implied Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Lee Chan | Dino, Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Lee Seokmin | DK
Comments: 18
Kudos: 44
Collections: Seoksoon Fireball Fest 2020





	부족해서,

**Author's Note:**

>   
> **for the prompt:**  
>  "Seokmin believes that somewhere, deep down inside, that Soonyoung loves him. But he knows, oh how much he knows, that he's been lying to himself all along."  
>    
>    
> this got away from me! i think the seokmin of this fic is a little more self-aware than the seokmin that was prompted, but this still deals [hopefully] with the issues/falling out of love. but it's definitely unhealthy, the way that seokmin deals with things, so--please keep that in mind while reading.  
> extreme thanks to the mod of this fest for hosting & for granting me an extension!  
>    
>    
> title, meaning: "[because] it isn't enough", from 'don't wanna cry', which was coincidentally what i was immediately reminded of upon reading this prompt  
> big thank u to [kita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horanghay/pseuds/Horanghay) who read through the first half of this & is also the best cheerleader ;; lov u. but the rest of this is unbeta'd and all mistakes are mine! i apologize in advance  
>   
> [twt+moodboard for this fic](https://twitter.com/mingyu_uji/status/1328022459841347584?s=20)  
> 

Lee Chan is a shiny new addition to Soonyoung's dance team; a first-year at their college who was scouted almost immediately after he joined a couple of the members busking one chilly night.

Chan is charming.

Charming, the line of his jaw when he snaps his head to the side and smiles, focused movements and endless energy. Charming, the way he introduces himself, brimming with confidence; the way he worms his way into their group, no problem at all; the way he talks to his hyungs with just the right amount of bite to his tone, almost constantly toeing the line—" _Is that any way to talk to your hyung, punk?"_ , but the words will be said through a begrudging grin, and Chan will smirk back, eyes sparkling through the whole exchange.

Charming, when he laughs and his entire body shakes with it, the loudest in the room; the way his body rides the waves of his sounds and the fact that it usually ends up with him curling into the nearest hyung or resting his head on their shoulder.

Not so charming when that shoulder belongs to Soonyoung.

They're all at a night-club together, the typical routine to finally greet the upcoming weekend. Seokmin would almost say he’s missed this, just fucking around with the dance team and a couple of mutual friends and acquaintances—the usual crowd, this is how it's been for the last couple of years.

Seokmin’s just returning from the bathroom, the webs in between his fingers still a little wet from when he'd washed them, but the way the club is packed with people just makes him feel a little sweatier, makes the tips of his fingers feel sticky in some sort of gross way.

That icky feeling spreads inward when he makes his way to the little clump of people he recognizes—just past Mingyu and Jun and Minghao. 

Soonyoung and Chan are standing close-close- _[close](https://twitter.com/mingyu_uji/status/1328029502069297158?s=20)_ , soju bottles in hand and swaying in time to the music, and then Seokmin watches with something festering in the pit of his stomach as Soonyoung raises an arm to Chan's face. From here he can just see Chan in profile, the pout of his lips and the way his eyes are open wide as Soonyoung cups Chan’s jaw with a palm, presses a careful thumb to the corner of his pout and swipes to the side, his own lips curling ever so slightly as he does it.

Seokmin takes a staggering step forward—and simultaneously Chan steps even _closer,_ a proprietary hand on Soonyoung’s shoulder and he _drags_ him down to his level, bounces a little onto his toes to whisper something into his ear.

From where Seokmin is standing it looks like it could be a kiss. 

Seokmin works his way over, limbs a little heavy—is that alcohol that’s causing his legs to drag, or is that some other kind of heaviness? 

“Soonyoung hyung,” Seokmin puts a little pleading into it, and he hears the way it sounds—almost _brittle_ —but they're all drunk, they're all at the club, so it won’t sound out of place. It’s fine.

Soonyoung’s been laughing, the mouth open, eyes-scrunched, giggly-sounding kind, and the traces of it don’t leave his face when he turns towards Seokmin at the sound of his voice.

“Seokmin hyung!”

It’s not Soonyoung that answers first.

Chan is looking up at him as he walks up, his hand still resting on Soonyoung’s shoulder. He doesn't move away, he doesn't look guilty—and why should he, Seokmin supposes. Chan shoots him a grin, picture-perfect in the way the corners of his lips pull up, and he looks _sweet_. It still leaves a bitter aftertaste. “You’re back!”

“S’km’naaaaah,” Soonyoung draws it out, and his cheeks bunch as his smile grows wider. Seokmin feels his own lips tug up in helpless response. “You’re finally here...to dance with us?” Soonyoung doesn’t quite move away from Chan, but he extends his other hand to grab Seokmin at the waist and tugs him in closer. 

Seokmin wants to be reluctant about it, and he tries to dig in his legs, tries to make himself harder to move—but he’s unsteady on his feet anyways, and the people around him are jostling him to and fro, and it’s just easier to move along with the motion of Soonyoung’s arm. And so he goes.

Chan’s watching them. His lips stay in their place, that upturned smile, and maybe it’s the lighting, maybe Seokmin’s sight is a little blurrier than it should be to discern these kinds of things, but it looks like the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Seokmin wants to turn away. Seokmin vaguely wants to leave.

Seokmin doesn’t really know what he wants. What he does know: when Soonyoung turns him in his arms and lets Seokmin drape himself haphazardly along one side of his body, Seokmin’s hand meets Chan’s on Soonyoung’s other shoulder. 

What do they look like, Seokmin wonders. He makes eye contact with Minghao, and Minghao smiles at him, a little wan, a little worried—ah, that’s right, Minghao never did get as drunk as they did; he always did see a lot more than he let on.

Is this what he was expecting to see? Is Seokmin the one that should have been standing here, dancing with Soonyoung?

(The crux of the thing is that—Seokmin doesn’t really know if he exists as ‘ _with Soonyoung’_ anymore at all, but that’s not something for him to unpack tonight, with his mind hazy and body loose and his entire being disobedient to his brain’s cues.) He shoots Minghao an approximation of a smile; or, he tries to, though he suspects the command gets lost somewhere on its way from his brain to his facial muscles. He doesn’t want to dwell on it; he turns away, back to Soonyoung.

Seokmin can smell something sweet on him, and something in him wants to nuzzle into it—maybe it’s the sense-memory of being so close to Soonyoung and his body, of being tucked into his side and feeling the overwhelming urge to let their bodies collide and overlap and _touch_. 

He leads with his nose, lets himself bury his face into the crook of Soonyoung’s neck as they sway in time to the music, as bodies writhe and jump around them. Soonyoung’s hand is so lax as it rests on Seokmin’s waist now, none of the grip that was there earlier, and if Seokmin wanted to pull away he thinks he’d not meet any resistance this time. 

Minghao and Jun are on Chan’s other side now, and they engage him in some conversation; he pulls slightly away from the two of them, and Seokmin uses the opportunity to fully wrap his arms around Soonyoung, clasping at the back of his neck and ducking down, close-close-closer. 

“You’re _warm_ tonight,” Soonyoung mumbles to him, letting Seokmin take up his space. Seokmin’s mouth finds its way to Soonyoung’s jaw, and he opens to _bite_ , a little angry, and a lot clumsy. 

Soonyoung starts to chuckle. “ _Wet_ ,” he murmurs, pushing at Seokmin’s chest. Seokmin wants to protest—Soonyoung has _been_ wet, sweat clinging to the nape of his neck—and Seokmin’s not being _that_ messy. He isn’t. 

He turns his head but doesn’t move back, so that his cheek rests on Soonyoung’s cheek and they’re staring at each other almost cross-eyed. 

“You don’t like it when I make you wet, hyung?” Seokmin mumbles, whining a little bit on purpose, like he could actually be put-out by it. But Soonyoung doesn’t pause like he might have otherwise—it’s probably the alcohol in his system—he just laughs again, a delighted little sound, and turns Seokmin’s head to face him.

“Oh, you know I do, Min-ah,” he hums, the suggestiveness belied by the levity in his tone, and for the first time that night, he looks right into Seokmin’s eyes. 

Right then, right there, suspended in that moment in time, with neon-fluorescent lights cutting jagged patterns across the planes of Soonyoung’s face and deep-bass of the music reverberating loud and rhythmic through Seokmin’s body right down to his bones, it feels cinematic: the simple kind of joy etched onto Soonyoung’s features, so uncomplicated, and just for Seokmin; the lax easiness to the way he holds his body;

—and that smile, the very same one that had reeled Seokmin in a little less than a year ago. 

Soonyoung and Seokmin have always been good in bed—at least, that’s what Seokmin has always thought.

Well, he hasn’t usually had to think of it in such compartmentalized terms—before, it was ‘Soonyoung and Seokmin had always been good together’ . Because that’s what it felt like—they’ve known each other for years, were always in each others’ space, so attuned to one another and so good at bouncing off of each others’ energies—it really had felt like just a matter of time when they’d gotten together. 

But nowadays, Seokmin breaks it up into sections, because maybe that way there’ll be parts which he can definitively say have remained the same—parts that have stayed _good_.

Soonyoung’s late to lunch again. 

Seokmin is self-aware enough to understand that Soonyoung was probably out late last night. Again. It isn’t that Seokmin doesn’t have an invitation to these events, but—it’s another dance team thing, and he’s been slowly but surely creating a distance, edging away. 

He doesn’t know what’s worse, at this point, whether it’s his presence at these events or his absence that should have him more worried, but he sees the way Minghao’s been looking at him, the way he pauses right before he calls Seokmin’s name sometimes, and Seokmin’s been studiously evading every cue, avoiding every conversation. 

When Soonyoung barrels into the café, Seokmin is just finishing up his meal. He didn’t order a big portion, but it feels heavy in his stomach, just something about it that doesn’t sit right, something about the weight of his thoughts that have transferred to his plate and morphed every bite of his food. 

Soonyoung’s already wearing a penitent expression, and Seokmin is familiar with the words that he knows will fall from his mouth. “Come to my place, hmmm, Seokmin-ah?” he says, eyes big and pleading. “Let me make it up to you?” And Seokmin knows how the script reads—he goes, of course he goes.

Because maybe it was never about Seokmin, all this time; maybe their comfort existed purely in the fact that it was two bodies in bed, hot and sweaty and lust-fueled together—but that doesn’t take away from the fact that it still fulfills some part within him which needs to be fulfilled. 

When they get to Soonyoung’s place, they don’t even make it to his bed. Soonyoung shuts the door behind him, and they just barely stumble past the 신발장 before Soonyoung’s backing Seokmin up against the nearest hard surface and sinking to a kneel. 

The floor must be so hard and unforgiving, Seokmin knows from experience, and through Soonyoung’s jeans—which, as if to make it hurt all the more, are torn at the knees and at the thigh—Seokmin can make out marks and bruises. _Ah_ , he thinks a little vaguely, almost detached from it all. _Their choreography must have a lot of floor-work._

“You look so good, Min-ah,” Soonyoung purrs, movements almost frenzied, excited. He always gets worked up like this, and the thing is that Seokmin’s good at keeping up. Seokmin’s good at matching his energy, at meeting him at his level.

And Seokmin always feels like glowing when he hears words of praise fall from Soonyoung’s lips. “Yeah, hyung?” He asks, the words unbidden. There’s no point trying to exercise control in the wake of Soonyoung’s pretty words, and every time, without fail, Seokmin crumbles to them like sand.

Soonyoung is so enthusiastic, when he gets Seokmin in his mouth. He’s always been, and as Seokmin moves his hips shallowly into that perfect heat, he thinks maybe that’s half the reason it feels so good—because Seokmin feels like he could be something to be cherished, something worth having, when Soonyoung moans so loudly for him, when Soonyoung reacts so eagerly to him. 

Soonyoung chokes suddenly, over-eager, and he pulls back with his eyes watering, a hand placed like a brand at Seokmin’s hip. Seokmin doesn’t chase him, knows to wait it out, but he can’t hold back from saying, “—then next time don’t be late, hyung.” The half-smile on his face means he’s teasing—right? “Or do you want to choke on my dick that badly?” The thrill of the words don’t hide his tone well enough. 

And Soonyoung must be better at reading Seokmin than he gives him credit for, because his own mouth twists down, and his gaze goes blank for a second. A moment, and then he chuckles, a soft, _easy_ sound, and pets the skin under his hands. “You got me, Seokmin-ah.” 

Soonyoung looks up at him from under his lashes, on his bruised knees that match the bloody red of his bitten-up lips. “I’m always hungry for you.” His eyelids flutter shut and he dips in, mouth _wet-hot-good_ around Seokmin’s cock, and Seokmin wonders who Soonyoung sees when he closes his eyes. 

Because Seokmin knows it’s not him. 

“Do you know what naïve means, hyung,” Seungkwan doesn’t so much ask as he _tells_ , reproach evident in his tone. 

“Seungkwan.” Minghao’s glare is sharp enough to cut through diamonds, but Seungkwan barely flinches. 

Seokmin does, though. Both at Seungkwan’s words and the look in Minghao’s eyes. He avoids them both and buries his hands in Bookkeu’s fur as the dog lays sprawled out in front of them, looking like he’s having the time of his life with all the attention he’s getting.

Seokmin distinctly wishes he could feel the same. 

“This isn’t good for him, Myungho-hyung!” 

They’ve been going in circles around it for the past few hours—for the past few weeks, really. And among discussions of right and wrong, Seokmin has been feeling this continual _pressure_ , like he’s underwater and _just_ reaching his lack-of-oxygen limit. 

This very much isn’t the first time Minghao and Seungkwan have tried to reason with him, but this _is_ the first time Seungkwan has thrown all caution to the winds with his approach.

Minghao is a little more careful with it. “You know,” he starts, eyes fixed on where Seokmin’s hands are scritching patterns just behind Bookkeu’s ears. “He’s not the only one that’ll give you what you think you need. It doesn’t have to be with him.” 

Seokmin feels all choked up. There’s a feeling like needles behind his eyelids, at the ends of his fingertips. He makes sure that he doesn’t look up, because that means the danger of finding Seungkwan’s or Minghao’s eyes trained on him with that _look_ in them—frustration, anger...something worse. 

“It isn’t that simple,” Seokmin hedges, the prickly feeling spreading from the back of his neck to his ears, to his chest and at the edges of his eyes, but he’s ashamed, and he wears it like a cloak every time he’s with the two of them.

Because the thing is, Minghao and Seungkwan knew him first. And possibly, it is exactly that simple.

For all that Seokmin has tried to distance himself from the dance scene, he couldn’t _not_ show up to their first big performance of the term. 

He goes with Seungkwan and Mingyu, and Seungkwan spends more time watching him than he does watching the performance. 

Seokmin, for what it’s worth, is immediately taken by Soonyoung the minute he starts dancing, and it’s good to let himself watch Soonyoung from the point of view of a member of the audience—to look at him purely on a surface level, to admire his form and his movements and _him_ as he exists on stage, without the pressure of knowing him any _more_ than that. Without having to acknowledge who Soonyoung is—(should be)—to him. 

Soonyoung is incredible on stage. He’s always been, and he only gets better with every new performance. His body _sings_ with it, when he’s performing—a high that Seokmin can just _see_ on Soonyoung’s face, and he knows it must be a feeling unmatched by any other. 

When he’s dancing, Soonyoung’s entire gaze changes—it goes dark and focused, his eyes narrowed and playful when they need to be, but always so, so _intent_. It feels like the heat of a flame, when he stares into the audience and Seokmin can catch his gaze. His movements are so easily confident, so light and just the right amount of cocky and effortless, and he looks like he’s _floating_ through the routine—he’s alluring, beautiful, _sexy_. 

It gets Seokmin hot under the collar every time, without fail. 

And maybe Seokmin is hyper-aware of the way Chan and Soonyoung's bodies look together, when they dance one-behind-the-other, in each others’ space and sharing movements with their limbs in such perfect synchrony. Maybe he notices how fucking well they fit together, when Soonyoung drops to his knees in front of Chan and Chan drags his hands up Soonyoung's torso, and he’s trying _not_ to notice that their bodies could fit within the curve of one another, that their movements align so easily and their figures look too _good_ in such proximate a space. 

But Soonyoung meets _his_ eyes after they take their bow, as they’re getting ready to leave, and something in Seokmin’s gut tugs. 

He sees the same hunger reflected in the way Soonyoung’s chest rises and falls with his breaths, the way the beat of their performance music still seems to thrum through his bones; Seokmin is still reeling from the last few minutes, and in the moment, it’s enough to know that Seokmin will have Soonyoung to himself for the next few hours.

A gaggle of avid watchers from the audience sneak up to Soonyoung and Minghao and Chan and the rest of their group to congratulate them and Soonyoung smiles wide, bows his head in thanks, flashes a wink to the girl next to him. 

She swoons, and Seokmin thinks Soonyoung really was made to perform. 

There’s a sort of hurried frenzy that trembles through their movements, when they get back to Soonyoung’s apartment, when they stumble into Soonyoung’s bedroom and Seokmin can back Soonyoung up until his knees hit the bed frame, until he’s almost toppling over.

Soonyoung whoops, a delighted little sound, and a little crazy, tone curling up with it, like it’s a game to him. Like this is something he’s finally interested in playing.

Seokmin can play along, here, if that’s how he’s wanted. 

“Hyu—nmgh.” The word—nothing more than a hoarse exhale—doesn’t even leave his mouth before he’s cutting himself off with his own actions, before he’s pressing forward to collide his lips against Soonyoung’s, to tangle his limbs with Soonyoung’s, harsh and tumbling and excess energy.

Seokmin lets himself lick into Soonyoung’s mouth, unrelenting sweeps of his tongue and pressing, passionate, like Soonyoung looks on stage, all that focus and energy and _power_. Soonyoung takes. Fuck, he takes it so well and barely gives back and makes Seokmin feel wild with it; here he is pushing and _pushing_ and Soonyoung still isn’t frazzled by it, still will only give on _his_ terms. 

“S’kmin-ah, ah- _hah_ ,” and _oh_ , it sends a thrill through Seokmin when he sees that, at the very least, Soonyoung is panting when he pulls away from their bruising kiss. 

But the loss of contact—a whine escapes Seokmin’s lips before he can reign it back, before the conscious thought has formed in his mind that he’s going to make a sound at all, but Soonyoung just coaxes these things out of him, it’s what he does—and Soonyoung smiles, again with that childish delight, like he’s _won_ something to be able to hear that noise from Seokmin.

It’s only then that he leans forward, his hand sliding from Seokmin’s hip up to the backs of his shoulders and finally _gripping,_ like only now he’s chosen to invest in this embrace, and he nips at the plushest part of Seokmin’s bottom lip, sharp tugs of his teeth so that it _stings_. Heat licks up Seokmin’s spine. 

They fall back onto Soonyoung’s bed, Soonyoung still in his dance clothes, black, slinky, glittering, sweat still sliding down from his forehead and clinging to the small of his back, the insides of his wrists, shirt already in a disarray and Seokmin hasn’t even gotten to properly touch him yet. 

The look is back in Soonyoung’s eyes, the one that he gets when he’s dancing; glittering, _piercing_ 눈빛. And if Soonyoung on stage is power and sleek lines and smooth, easy moves of his body, Soonyoung in his bed under Seokmin is the same, draws Seokmin’s eyes to him in the same way, a fucking _performer_. 

Soonyoung strips his clothes off with smooth, confident motions; when he goes to take his jeans off, they stick to his body, sweat-damp, and Seokmin’s eyes catch on those points—thick thighs, corded with muscle and glistening. 

Seokmin is simple. He’s so simple, and he’s always been.

Soonyoung smirks at him like he knows. “I’m all wet for you, baby,” he laughs, like it's just a joke.

It is, but Seokmin doesn't feel much like laughing.

Soonyoung when he’s post-performance sweat-drenched really _is_ a sight to behold. And—this is probably gross, but Seokmin is so far gone, he’s so hot and worked up and confused with it that he doesn't care at this point—he smells so dirty-good, musk and something heady and purely Soonyoung and all Seokmin wants to do is _taste_. 

He gives into the urge with a simpler destination first, ducking down fast and latching his mouth onto the meatiest part of Soonyoung’s thighs, inside and high up, so close to where his body heat gathers and the musk is the headiest. Seokmin rakes his teeth across the skin, barely grazing at first, trying to tease, trying to get Soonyoung to the same point of desperation that Seokmin himself is so constantly at. 

“You gonna tease me, Min-ah?” Soonyoung drawls, a hand coming up to Seokmin’s head to cup it, to push him down, wordlessly asking for—no, _demanding_ more. Seokmin gives in. “Gonna mark me up, won’t you?” 

“I will, I _will_ ,” Seokmin mumbles fervently, a promise, smushed against Soonyoung’s skin. 

“Good boy, just for me, hmm?” Soonyoung’s voice is soft and wry, and Seokmin can tell that he already knows the answer. Fuck, it makes his chest constrict a little, but that’s what Seokmin is, plain and simple. He’s Soonyoung’s good boy, he’s just Soonyoung’s. That’s all he is. 

Seokmin groans, deep in his throat as he sucks bites into Soonyoung’s thighs, feels how heavenly the skin and muscle give under his fingertips as he squeezes, as he licks and presses open-mouthed kisses and gasps against the skin. His head’s a mess, something like a fog clouding through each crevice, but what burns through it all is the scent of Soonyoung beneath his nose and the blood that’s pumping to his own cock, half-hard and insistent, now, straining at the zipper of his jeans. 

He surfaces and licks at the juncture of Soonyoung’s thigh and his hips, tracks a hand down to press at his own dick, watches out of the corners of his eyes as Soonyoung grows harder in his boxers; when he lifts his head it's in time to catch Soonyoung’s own head thrown back and eyes closed in bliss, grin still ever-present on his lips. Dark red marks are littered across Soonyoung’s upper legs, like a secret which Seokmin doesn’t know if Soonyoung will keep, but it doesn’t matter—they’re there now, bruises on his pretty thighs, glistening with Seokmin’s spit. 

He wonders what it says about him that he prefers it when he can leave marks on Soonyoung, leave reminders; at least these are things Seokmin can see, proof of Seokmin’s presence that Soonyoung can wear, and proof that Seokmin has had Soonyoung like this. Reminders that they’ve existed together, like this.

And Soonyoung responds so vocally to his every move, moans and groans and bitten-off words—fuck, it’s so satisfying, Seokmin drawing noises out of Soonyoung like this, a direct action and response. Soonyoung can pretend all he wants, but it’s Seokmin between his legs right now, and it’s Seokmin’s teeth against his skin, Seokmin watching as Soonyoung’s cock drools precome into the fabric of his underwear, as Soonyoung is sweaty and hot and _wet_ for him.

“Off, hyung,” Seokmin asks him, demands from him, fingers tucking in at the edge of Soonyoung’s boxers and tugging down. Soonyoung doesn’t comply immediately, the fingers of his left hand tracing patterns across his own chest as his right scritch-scratches at the hair at Seokmin’s nape. 

Seokmin always loves the feeling of Soonyoung’s hands in his hair, and it feels surprisingly tender at this moment, but—he has other things in mind right now. “Wanna eat, hyungie,” he whines, looking up into Soonyoung’s eyes and letting his mouth hang open on a pant, feeling his own shirt stick to him at his back and under his armpits. He’s hazy and loose and horny and there’s something sour under everything else that’s desperate to feel Soonyoung, desperate to exist _alone_ with him in this moment.

Soonyoung lifts up, doing all the work with just his upper body, abdomen muscles straining into prominence as he does. He gives Seokmin a considering look, like Seokmin is begging to be pleasured rather than give pleasure. 

“Yeah?” There’s that heat in his eyes that Seokmin’s been waiting for, and this time the word is breathless. His hand moves up to tug at Seokmin’s earlobes and he asks, tone honey-sweet, “You’ll do well? Eat hyung out and make me come?” 

Seokmin nods again, a puppet on a string. _Anything_ , he doesn’t say, but it must show in his eyes, because Soonyoung smiles and gestures down, lets him. 

Seokmin peels Soonyoung’s boxers down and off, a buzzing feeling in his chest and at the pits of his stomach, vision almost cloudy with it. Anticipation, lust—desperation? He can’t pinpoint—no, that’s not right. He _won’t_ pinpoint what it is that’s making this moment feel like he’s experiencing it in 8-bit, because he doesn’t want to let himself slow down and process, he doesn’t think he could stomach this if it were any clearer in his mind. 

All he wants is the feeling of Soonyoung’s body under his and Soonyoung’s praise washing over him like a fuzzy blanket. All he needs is the veneer. 

Seokmin may have wanted to meet his eyes, Seokmin may have wanted to see himself reflected in Soonyoung’s gaze, but Soonyoung’s busy looking elsewhere, so he resigns himself to the sounds.

When he licks the first hot stripe across Soonyoung’s hole, Soonyoung _growls_ with it, loud and from the chest. His entire body responds, hands gripping tighter and chest constricting with his breath and sweet-hot- _dirty_ words falling from his lips. It sounds like music to Seokmin’s ears. 

He’s messy with it, lets spit collect in his mouth and drool down his chin and coat Soonyoung’s body as he alternates between fast and slow, as he stays on the surface and as he lets himself lick deeper, _into_ Soonyoung, feel his hot walls clench around his tongue. He hasn’t ever made Soonyoung come on his mouth alone, and some part of him, still fiery and reeling after today’s stage, wants to do that tonight, wants to give Soonyoung something he’s never had before, but he looks up and Soonyoung already has a hand around his cock, jerking it leisurely.

“No, hyung, please—” Seokmin’s mouth is full, Seokmin’s tongue is busy, but he tries to speak anyways. It comes out all garbled and whiny. ‘Hyung, you said—you _said_ I could make you come.”

Soonyoung’s hand pauses in its movements. His fingers are glistening. Seokmin licks his lips unconsciously, tracks the movement of Soonyoung’s hand down to his mouth and—oh, _oh_. He opens up, and Soonyoung sticks his fingers in, middle and forefinger hooked and pulling down on Seokmin’s jaw. “I asked you if you could, didn’t I,” he says, and he sounds like he isn’t disappointed yet, but he could be. Seokmin can’t have that. “You think you can do it? Just you—” 

Suddenly he cuts off, and that rankles, oh. That burns, a little bit. Does Soonyoung really want the answer to that? Does Seokmin really want to _give_ an answer to that?

Soonyoung trails his spit-slick fingers out of Seokmin’s jaw, and grabs to pull his face up, looks into his eyes again. And all of a sudden, his eyes are so unbearably soft, inky black and deep. “I believe you, baby,” he says, voice a sweet whisper that Seokmin has always loved. “Go on. Show me how good you are with your mouth, hmm?” 

“‘m gonna make you come, Soonyoungie,” Seokmin says to the V of his legs, face turned away from Soonyoung and eyes blurring with something unnamed. 

And Seokmin’s sure that before Soonyoung, he only thought that someone would cry in bed because they received pleasure to such an extent that they just couldn’t hold it in anymore. He’d never have imagined it could be him, on the other side of the equation, feeling tears well up at the corners of his eyes, an overwhelming feeling cresting through his chest, as he gives and gives and _gives_. 

“Deeper, _more_ —fuck, yes, like that,” Soonyoung moans, one hand burying deeper into Seokmin’s hair.

He wants to get lost in the taste, wants to surrender to the motions of it, the physicality of eating Soonyoung out, of working towards a goal. Because he loves this—this is enough for him to get so hard that it hurts, this alone gets him off, just servicing Soonyoung like this, just letting Soonyoung tell him what to do, firm hand on his neck and using Seokmin for his pleasure. Telling him that he’s—

“Oh, you’re so _good_ ,” Soonyoung coos to Seokmin, stroking his hair, petting the nape of his neck, and that’s it. The sinking feeling deep in Seokmin’s chest feels like a heavy compress, spreads like an ache to his temples, to his nose and his eyes and his throat.

All the motions, Seokmin thinks, tears falling freely, heart leaping. 

The fog that’s been clouding the only rational thought that’s left in his head dissipates so suddenly, and from somewhere within the recesses of his mind he hears these feelings as if they’re being shouted to him. A stark, startling moment of clarity, as he basks in Soonyoung’s praise.

It’s like if Soonyoung’s body can keep up the facade of loving Seokmin well enough, maybe somehow his mind will be changed, too. 

Like he hopes Seokmin will fall for it too, that he hopes Seokmin will be blinded by his needs. Like he thinks maybe Seokmin is too caught up with the shimmering image of himself reflected in the mirror that Soonyoung’s built for him, raised up and bright and bolstered with the words that fall out of Soonyoung’s mouth; that he’ll be too distracted to step forward and move the veil, shatter the rose-colored glass.

And fuck, the thing is—

Soonyoung comes with a gasp, a cut-off word, and his eyes clamped shut. Seokmin watches him intently, drinks in the sounds, eagerly, painfully. 

He’s right. Seokmin needs it.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading! <3   
>  [twt](https://twitter.com/mingyu_uji) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/mingyu-uji)


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